Emerging from the chaos of the tutorial, you stand in the Real Tutorial Guild. The air hums with artificial energy as the System processes your initial achievements.
Before you, shimmering containers materialize – your rewards. Among them, a 'Silver Lucky Bastard Box' for each of you, and a hobbled-together box etched with a goblin skull.
System notifications flash across your vision, prompting you to upgrade your capabilities and review your new skills, granted by the AI itself.
El Presidente: Let's begin processing. Key to the words indeed, indeed.
J-Star: No, I'm using a summary. I just had Mr. Robot.
Pat: Yeah, whatever. Well, that's a robot. Can try hard next time.
El Presidente: I put your summary into my AI to give me a summary of yourself.
The boxes float, waiting to be opened.
From the crude, goblin-etched box, something unexpected emerges.
A small, goblin-shaped skull tattoo flies out, seeking a host.
El Presidente: My nyx the corner of my ear.
It brands itself onto the edge of his ear, a sharp, brief pain.
Pat: Back of the left half.
It embeds onto the back of his left hand.
J-Star: J-star definitely like dropped something out of the box. And then like goes down to pick it up and then looks up and gets it like Mike Tyson like the side of the face. As it comes flying out of the box.
It slams into the side of his face.
Freddy: Man hits the back of my, my right hand, my appliances in hand.
It lands on the back of his right hand.
You all feel the sting simultaneously, seeing the glowing skull pattern appear on each other.
Pat: Oh man, Harley's gonna be real pissed. I've never told her I was gonna get that too.
J-Star: Oh, I don't, I don't know if I'm gonna get any new clients after this one does. It doesn't look good.
With loot boxes pilfered and strange tattoos acquired, you step out of the Real Tutorial Guild.
As you do, Mordecai, your assigned tutorial guide, leans out one last time.
Mordecai: Just by the way. Now that I've trained you, if you enter any other tutorial guild you'll just transfer back here. I'm your registered guide until four so come back with questions before then.
He leans closer, lowering his voice.
Mordecai: Not worth it no matter what they tell you the exits before floor 12, Not worth it. You make it that far negotiate hard. Remember that?
The door shuts, leaving you in a dimly lit hallway. Across the top corners of your vision, a stark timer appears: Four days, 20 hours remaining.
The hallway stretches ahead, damp and silent save for the drip of unseen water.
Patches of vibrant, eerie green lichen cling to the walls, casting a faint, sickly glow.
Pat: Wow, guys. Look at all these lichens.
J-Star: so, a lot of liking
Ahead, another door stands, seemingly locked.
El Presidente: I have lock picks. Yeah, is in my bag.
El Presidente retrieves his tools, approaching the door.
Freddy: Someone say tools. I got a slightly Brent crowbar we can use or we could just take it off at cages with this heavy duty wrench. I got a dual wheel to s***.
He begins to work on the lock, the scraping sounds echoing loudly.
The sounds of lockpicking scrape against the silence.
Suddenly, from down the hallway behind you, a new sound emerges: the distinct, heavy thud of hooves.
The sound grows rapidly, accompanied by a deep rumble.
An arcing projectile of glowing red lava flies through the air!
Appearing from the shadows is a creature of nightmare: a mountain sized Bad Llama, Level 3.
Freddy: What the f***? What that. I feel like. I'm having a stroke trying to read. Whatever came up on the bottom there.
It's a llama, but bad. Giant, terrifying, with furious eyes and scorched fur.
The Bad Llama stands before you, radiating fury.
Pat: Like do we really got to fight this guy? Like it sounds like he'd be interested in trading something.
A human male, likely in his late 30s or early 40s, with a slightly anxious or bewildered expression, wearing remnants of business casual attire, reaches into his bag.
Pat: I hold out a crawler biscuit in front of me and I slowly walked towards this bad llama.
The llama's furious eyes narrow at the offering.
Pat: I put the I put the biscuit back and I pull out. A frayed gurney strap.
He holds up the strap, attempting persuasion.
Pat: Hey, hey Llama. Can you can you talk because the rat could talk?
The llama de-escalates slightly, its expressive eyes showing thought, but the items aren't right. It's into a different kind of 'drug'.
Pat: I don't. I pull out the potion of Bronze calming drop.
Pat: You want, drilled, you want drugs? Here. Well, here's some drugs.
Now, the llama's eyes widen, its eyebrows wiggling. This is its language.
A human male, likely in his late 30s or early 40s, with a slightly anxious or bewildered expression, wearing remnants of business casual attire, uncorks the potion.
The llama accepts the draught as a toll for passage. It turns, spitting acidic goo onto the wall, and walks away.
As the Bad Llama retreats, your minimaps ping, picking up a white dot nearby.
A safe room.
El Presidente: I'm gonna, I'm gonna see if the door to the safe. Room is open.
The door opens easily, revealing a stark contrast to the dungeon hallways.
You step into what looks like a retro McDonald's, jarringly clean and brightly lit, with strange decor suggesting a Slovakian theme.
Screens display information: a countdown to Floor 1 collapse, a leaderboard placeholder, and safe room details including rental rooms and food availability.
Behind the counter stands a small, non-humanoid creature, perhaps Yoda-like in stature, wearing a simple blue apron, a plain paper hat, and a name tag that reads 'Tally'.
El Presidente: Food food prices.
Tally: My food.
El Presidente: Is your ice cream machine working?
Tally: I have Cookie. I make food for you now, if you wish
El Presidente: Ice cream machine is always broken. Sure, I'll take a cookie.
Freddy: There, there are few things that Freddy appreciate some life more than a good hot meal. So, he's definitely gonna walk up and say what you got cooking on the grill there friend.
Tally: I make what you want. You tell me what is your spice tolerance? One to five.
Freddy: Let's let's go for solid three. How's that?
Pat: I think Pat as a doctor knowing that Tally doesn't wash hands is kind of just disgusted by this whole scenario.
A human male, likely in his late 30s or early 40s, with a slightly anxious or bewildered expression, wearing remnants of business casual attire, looks visibly uncomfortable, his face flushing slightly at the thought of the grime.
J-Star: Do you have any espresso? Do you have any caffeinated beverages behind the bar there?
Tally: I have sparkle water made from like it. Very spicy.
J-Star: I'll try anything. Once send it, send it on over. I love a little lacroix during the day. You know, really really helps me pick up
Consuming the cookie and sparkle water provides unexpected, permanent stat boosts.
Inside the safe room, a thought occurs: what happens if you try to attack someone here?
J-Star: I just wanted to see if because we're in a safe room. If I could. Hurt someone.
A human male, also in his late 30s or early 40s, initially presenting a neat, tax accountant appearance, wearing practical but ill-suited clothing, retrieves his stubby pencil.
He attempts to poke a human male, perhaps younger or more physically imposing, with a confident, sometimes cocky demeanor, wearing a sweaty headband, who is standing near the door.
Instantly, a huge red banner appears above the aggressor.
System Announcement: Violation detected safe doll, safe zone. Protocols engaged, aggression is prohibited. First warning is penalty, temporal station initiative duration, 100 seconds.
The human male, also in his late 30s or early 40s, initially presenting a neat, tax accountant appearance, wearing practical but ill-suited clothing, freezes completely, eyes wide, stubby pencil outstretched.
El Presidente: A J star. I was watching the door and getting my cookies. What the f***?
He cannot respond, held rigid by the system.
Leaving the strange safety of Tally's, you venture down the west hallway.
The corridor is long and dimly lit by the ubiquitous lichen glow.
From the shadows ahead, a skittering noise begins, rapidly growing in volume.
A horde emerges – Scatterers, level two. Thigh-sized cockroaches with eight legs and hard, black chitinous shells, moving with a rapid, chittering skitter.
Pat: Oh, I read about those in the Almanac. They're just big cockroaches and they're not an issue, or are they?
The swarm descends upon you, their chittering enraged.
A human male, possibly larger or more rugged, with a more relaxed but capable presence, wearing practical and slightly grimy clothes, finds himself at the front of the pack as the swarm engulfs him.
The swarm presses in, their sheer mass threatening to overwhelm you.
A human male, possibly larger or more rugged, with a more relaxed but capable presence, wearing practical and slightly grimy clothes, struggles to stay on his feet against the tide of chitin.
Attempts to deter them prove... unconventional.
A human male, perhaps younger or more physically imposing, with a confident, sometimes cocky demeanor, wearing a sweaty headband, grabs glowing lichen from the wall, chucking globs at the swarm, hoping to make them slippery or unappetizing.
A human male, likely in his late 30s or early 40s, with a slightly anxious or bewildered expression, wearing remnants of business casual attire, pulls out his bent reflex hammer, aiming for a cockroach near his teammate's knee, hoping to trigger a reflex kick.
The human male, perhaps younger or more physically imposing, with a confident, sometimes cocky demeanor, wearing a sweaty headband, spins a rusty chain like a jump rope, trying to trip the bugs.
He then switches to a meat tenderizer, attempting to 'tenderize' the cockroach shells.
Most attacks are ineffective, some even causing friendly fire.
Amidst the chaotic attempts to fight the swarm, friendly fire finds its mark.
A human male, likely in his late 30s or early 40s, with a slightly anxious or bewildered expression, wearing remnants of business casual attire, is struck by a teammate's flailing chain.
He stumbles, falling to the ground, his vision blurring. He is at zero hit points.
Pat: That means I'm at zero hit points. I guess I'm just rolling for my death saves now.
Just before the darkness takes him, he remembers the cookie from Tally's.
Pat: I have a solve of soothing mostly, well, that depends, I never ate the cookie that I had. That was supposed to heal me. One hit point. But I have it.
Overcoming his disgust at Tally's hygiene, he shoves the cookie into his mouth. Then, he quickly drinks a potion of soothing.
The System registers the healing, pulling him back from the brink. He is stabilized.
Amidst the struggling combat, a human male, also in his late 30s or early 40s, initially presenting a neat, tax accountant appearance, wearing practical but ill-suited clothing, has an idea.
J-Star: I think it's, it's time to try one of these doors.
He opens a nearby door, revealing a small, steel-toilet bathroom.
J-Star: J Stars doing his typical. Move and is going to. Unhinge the door. And to push it to smush as many as as possible.
The door is impossibly heavy, welded shut, but as the Scatterers follow him towards the threshold...
They begin to explode upon contact with the doorway, misting into blood and gore.
The safe zone protocol extends to this bathroom door.
He realizes the potential: a killbox.
J-Star: Then I think he's gonna leave the door open with like weapon at the ready. if any somehow like are able to get past that magical barrier,
With the killbox strategy in play, the remaining Scatterers are funneled towards the bathroom door.
A human male, also in his late 30s or early 40s, initially presenting a neat, tax accountant appearance, wearing practical but ill-suited clothing, uses a small wooden pointer stick, trying to tag the roaches for XP before they hit the barrier.
Notifications flash: Scatterer Level 2 Kill.
A human male, likely in his late 30s or early 40s, with a slightly anxious or bewildered expression, wearing remnants of business casual attire, throws a goblin grenade towards the remaining bugs.
Finally, a human male, possibly larger or more rugged, with a more relaxed but capable presence, wearing practical and slightly grimy clothes, steps up.
Freddy: I turned very violent eyes toward him, and I take out my heavy wrench and try to whack them with it.
He brings his heavy wrench down on the last scurrying roach, ending the fight.
The immediate vicinity is cleared. You begin looting the remains, gathering supplies from the exploded bugs.
After the messy victory against the Scatterers, you return to the relative safety of Tally's.
A human male, also in his late 30s or early 40s, initially presenting a neat, tax accountant appearance, wearing practical but ill-suited clothing, pops into the safe room, asking Tally about the door next door.
J-Star: Hey, what's next door to you? The locked one.
Tally: Not locked.
Tally confirms the door is now unlocked.
J-Star: Oh okay. Thanks man.
The door next to Tally's, previously locked, stands ajar.
With the immediate area cleared and a new path opened, the party considers their next move.
Pat: So we should probably find some stairs down another level, right?
El Presidente: So here me out part of this. Little new tattoo, I got on my ear here. Removes goblin hostility. At the very beginning of all of this was that door that was like the goblin. Tutorial. That they were trying to take us to go into.
El Presidente: Why don't we go back in there? See what that's all about.
J-Star: That's a great idea. There was that other door.
A human male, perhaps younger or more physically imposing, with a confident, sometimes cocky demeanor, wearing a sweaty headband and a human male, also in his late 30s or early 40s, initially presenting a neat, tax accountant appearance, wearing practical but ill-suited clothing, decide to make the trek back.
Returning to the area of your first encounter, you see red dots on your minimap.
Goblin Guards stand before a large gate-like door.
J-Star: We kind of hang in the shadows a little bit. And I think he turns to Presidente says, I think we make A bit of a dramatic entrance.
A human male, also in his late 30s or early 40s, initially presenting a neat, tax accountant appearance, wearing practical but ill-suited clothing, attempts to cover his goblin tattoo, but it glows through.
A human male, perhaps younger or more physically imposing, with a confident, sometimes cocky demeanor, wearing a sweaty headband, turns his head to show the tattoo on his ear.
J-Star: Hello comrades.
El Presidente: Buenos Dias in case we'll try two languages.
The Goblin Guards, shorter, green-skinned humanoids with crude armor and pineapple-tipped spears, initially hostile, stare in confusion as they see the glowing goblin skull tattoos.
Their red dots flicker to white on the minimap.
Goblin Guard: Huh. How did, how did you, how did you get? How did you get that?
Acknowledging the pass, a nervous Goblin Guard leads you through the gate.
You enter a maze of tight, twisting alleys, filled with the smell of oil, smoke, and pineapple.
More goblins are scattered throughout – tinkering engineers with dented kitchen pots on their heads, guards armed with crude crossbows.
They eye you with hostility, but defer to your guide and the visible Goblin Pass tattoos.
You pass a larger, more heavily armored goblin with a patchwork of metal plates and old sports gear, the Goblin Bombard, Level Five, covered in pouches and straps for explosives.
Eventually, you reach a large workshop area, a scene of chaotic industry, clearly their HQ.
The Goblin Guard announces your arrival.
Goblin Guard: Two. Crawl crawlers with the past
He scampers away as the Goblin Shamanka, a female goblin, perhaps slightly taller or more adorned than others, wearing shamanistic regalia, approaches.
Goblin Shamanka: You may have a pass, but you are not welcome here, human not in this place.
J-Star: Well. I appreciate you letting us get in this far. It's got a great. You got a great operation here? I didn't notice that there's a lot of things going on around, but I wasn't noticing any sort of like, tracking of sort of different materials going in and out. I was just, I was just wondering if you'd be interested in. Of hearing a little bit about how I would, I would run this sort of, you know organization.
Goblin Shamanka: They disgust me.
She begins walking towards him, clearly offended by his corporate talk.
El Presidente: I believe El Presidente had some some diplomacy to proceed with.
A human male, perhaps younger or more physically imposing, with a confident, sometimes cocky demeanor, wearing a sweaty headband, steps forward, shifting the conversation.
El Presidente: It sounds like you don't have great tracking on all of your Systems and materials here.
Goblin Shamanka: That is why your friend came in here, and started chastising me. And Get our inventory on time.
El Presidente: What, what do you what do you make here? Curious.
She gestures around the workshop, showing off the war machines and barrels of gunpowder.
The negotiation continues, the Shamanka wary but intrigued.
J-Star: What's that, what's that empty parking spot next to the other bulldozers.
El Presidente: What if me and my friend here, take one of these death, dozers on a patrol.
Goblin Shamanka: This act, I cannot do. I cannot give you one of our war machines.
J-Star: Are you? You will not get this dozer from me. You would like to join the goblin clear? That is a first level deal, you can become a goblin. You can feed the bellies of our babies.
J-Star: Yeah, I think I heard there was a lot of food by the the stairs to level two. I If you, if you can like draw a simple map for us, we'll go pick it up and bring it right back to you.
Goblin Shamanka: I I we stay away from stairs, if I if we climb down the stairs, we die. You get halfway down in your body. Just dissolves. I've seen it to myself. It is Very rude to bring up the stairs.
El Presidente: See safe to go by the llamas.
Goblin Shamanka: No, no llamas. Like those lamas. But one day, we will wake up and we will go deeper. That is what they tell us.
J-Star: What do they say about killing the lamas?
Goblin Shamanka: That is for fun.
J-Star: I agree. Let's go have some fun.
Goblin Shamanka: But we have a truce with them.
J-Star: Holding out drug supply.
The Shamanka's eyes go wide. She points to small motorcycles.
Goblin Shamanka: What? What do you know about this? but there's now two shamokas that are just like Right in front of your face, how Tell us. not on table. Maybe chopper
J-Star: I, we have information, you have things we want Let's make a little deal.
J-Star: I, we have been searching. We have been watching. We are wary of the llamas. They come. With clean faces. they leave, they come back with Faces pouted like a donut.
Goblin Shamanka: Mmm. But they could have gotten it from outside of the dungeon. How do I know extension made?
El Presidente: Can you? Can you leave the dungeon?
Goblin Shamanka: Can I leave the dungeon? Can you eat your own ass?
El Presidente: No. So what makes you think the llamas can
J-Star: So you're, you're dozers. Are built by things that came into the dungeon recently.
J-Star: Sounds like to use your words, they're holding out on you.
Goblin Shamanka: Proof is needed if you want trade.
El Presidente: What if? All right, we'll bring you some.
Goblin Shamanka: We will be here.
J-Star: I think that was worth a dropper. I think that was worth a chopper. That's some good info. We bring you proof for you to second one.
El Presidente: Yeah. Info one. Proof two.
Goblin Shamanka: this, I will make a deal for
El Presidente: and if we find the supply, a dozer,
Goblin Shamanka: No. Two choppers, final deal.
J-Star: All I got to say. Is if when we find the supply. You're gonna need a dozer to bring it all back.
El Presidente: And all I'll say, is, it's been nice. Getting to know you.